An End To Endless Suffering
by rippingbutterflywings
Summary: She's treated badly by him. She's covered in emotional and physical bruises. When will she finally put a stop to it? AH/AU One-shot.


**Hey guys! I haven't updated SIABCL in FOREVER, I know. I'm sorry. I'm on it! :D I was in a shitty mood today—or something—and I decided to write this, just because. I think relationships like the one portrayed here shouldn't happen ever. It just saddens me how many people put up with this shit. Like, seriously. Goddamn. Anyways, now that I'm done cursing and all, I'd like to thank maxwaylandgrey for reading this over and telling me what to fix and whatnot. :D So, um, yes. I'm probably uploading a new fic this weekend! Wee! And then finals start. -.-  
>(Also, you should all go read two very fantastic books I've read lately: Anna Dressed In Blood by Kendare Blake, and The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer by Michelle Hodkin. Twisted and fantastic, I say. xD)<br>**Also, I do not own The Mortal Instruments. I know I don't usually say this. Mostly because it's OBVIOUS. If I did, I'd be writing the actual books, bros. :D****

**Enjoy!  
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She watched the blood spill from her wrist to the sink, drop by drop, like her arm was crying as much as her eyes were. Tears spilled out of them, angry tears, sad tears, disappointed tears. She didn't know how to make it better, how to make it go away. He hated it. She knew he hated it. He told her every day—every day he was in a bad mood, he would yell at her through the phone, telling her to stop. It wasn't the sweet, "Please stop, I love you," kind of thing, either. It was the, "IF YOU DON'T STOP, WE ARE FUCKING OVER, BITCH, BECAUSE YOU ARE WORTHLESS," kind of thing. It made her feel sadder, though she didn't let him know. She just nodded, telling him she'd stop, and he would tell her he loved her, and she would say it back, and then they would hang up. And after that, he would go screw Kaelie, and she would cut herself and hope death would take her away.

It started when they started, basically. Two months after, precisely. Jace was amazing at first—always cocky, but sometimes nice. He was the dream boy. He loved her.

And she loved him.

He was everything she could ask for. He held her when she cried, kissed her when she laughed, laughed when she kissed him. She gave him everything she had. She thought he'd done the same.

She was wrong.

The day before, she found him and Kaelie. She found them having sex in his fucking bedroom, and she stormed out, ran a whole damn mile, never caring that she was out of breath and about to have an asthma attack—or that was how it felt like, at least. Then she got home, cut herself four times, and wept. It hurt way more than usual. She didn't know if it was how her chest constricted at the thought of him, how it ached and moaned and screamed for him. She didn't dare take the pills that sat on top of her mother's drawer. She wasn't brave enough to do it. She never would be.

Clary Fray could never tell anyone that she hated herself.

She could never.

They would hate her, too, he said.

And she believed him. And she wept. And she bled.

She wanted him.

"Clary! Jace is here!" Jocelyn called out happily. She was enamored with Jace. He was attractive, after all, and charming when he could be. Clary tried not to think of him with bitterness, but she couldn't help it. What was he doing at her house? Couldn't he let her do what she wanted?

"Send him up," Clary replied, but he was already there the second she said it.

"Clary." He stood in front of her in a flash, his golden eyes full of anger. He noticed the blood at first, then shut the door so her mother wouldn't hear him calling her things she'd never forgive him for. He walked toward the sink, took the blade in his hands, and broke it in half with a sickening "crack"!  
>"No," she whispered. He couldn't do that. He couldn't just waltz into her life after cheating on her with her worst enemy and then pretend like he could play the shots. He couldn't. She wanted to die. She wanted him to die along with her, too.<p>

"Clary," he said harshly. "Listen to me." When she didn't move, he did something that he always did. She shouldn't have been surprised, but for some reason, she was.

His fist connected with her cheek. A stab of pain shot through her, then the whole left side of her face numbed for a minute, and then the pain came back and burned her face, making her shut her eyes and let a few tears flow out of them.

"What?" she said through gritted teeth.

"I love you," he said, "but I can't let you do this."

"Jace," she said, but she could see it in his eyes. She knew what was coming next. She knew it, and she hated it, and she wished she could just bleed away until her heart stopped and she ceased to breathe. He wanted her—not her personality, no. He wanted her body. He wanted to beat her up until her skin had more than just a few purple spots, until her lips were swollen. And then he would fuck her, over and over, until she was hurting too much, crying, begging him to stop.

She lost her virginity to him two weeks before. They were in the school bathroom. He shoved her against the stall, locked the main bathroom door, and fucked her—twice. She bled for a while.

"Use a tampon," said Jace with a shrug. She did just that. She had bled the next time they had done it.

Jace came over to her house every day and fucked her. He did it at school sometimes, claiming that he was too stressed and needed to blow off some steam.

On her.

He had her pinned against her bathroom door, every door in her room locked.

And that was when her pain began, the pain that would end once he left, once he walked out of her life temporarily.

"Is Jace staying over?"

Jocelyn's voice woke Clary. Jace lay next to her in bed, his hands in places they shouldn't be. She gently placed them by his sides. He rolled over.

"No, he'll be going in a few." Clary heard her mother walk away. Then, she walked over to Jace.

"Clary?" he asked, squinting.

She must've been wearing something that looked like an enraged expression, because she was mad. There was a dream. She couldn't remember it very well, but she knew what she saw, she knew what she heard, and she knew what she had to do. A voice echoed in her brain. It said, "Do it now," over and over again.

"Get up," she told him. Surprisingly, he did as told. He got dressed, slipped on the rest of his attire aside from his clothing, and looked at her. His eyebrows rose at the sight of her. She looked demanding, so unlike the insecure girl he was used to seeing.

There was one thing the dream helped her realize: she couldn't keep this up any longer. Two years, she had put up with his bullshit, with his insults and his violence. It was enough for anyone to wish their own death.

Clary?

She would live. She had to.

"Get out," she growled at him.

He blinked. "Excuse me?" He sounded baffled, shocked, and angry. At the same time, though, his voice was laced with amusement. It hit her: he didn't believe she would actually go along with it. They'd had fights before, but none of them had ever been the way this one was going to be. It was going to end.

"Get out. Are you stupid, or do I need to say it again?" Clary's voice was bitter and full of anger and she knew she was making a mistake, but she wouldn't back down. Before his hand could connect to her body and hurt her, she walked over to her door and opened it. She knew his blood was boiling with anger, but she didn't care. He wouldn't touch her with the door open. He only hurt her behind the scenes, when no one was looking.

"Out," she said. Through clenched teeth and three-word curses, Jace followed suit. "And don't come back."

"I won't. And, by the way?" He gave her his signature his smirk. "You weren't worth shit, Fray."

She slammed the door on his face.

Walked over to the sink.

Picked up the broken razor.

And bled.


End file.
